


A Rolling Rocky Gathers No Moss

by commanderlurker (honeybee592)



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Explosions, M/M, Origin Story, Pre-Dragon Age: Inquisition
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-28
Updated: 2018-04-28
Packaged: 2019-04-28 21:15:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14457900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeybee592/pseuds/commanderlurker
Summary: Dimitri is an explosive expert, but perhaps not as much of an expert as he thinks. He was exiled from Orzammar and has been eking out a living in Jader. When the Iron Bull's Chargers pass through, he's presented with a tempting offer: the chance to blow up a rock and maybe start again.





	A Rolling Rocky Gathers No Moss

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JustJasper](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustJasper/gifts).



A dwarf walks the halls of the Shaperate, past the black scorch marks from the explosion that killed Shaper Mikhail and Shaper Donnell. She stops halfway down a stack, scans the spines, then pulls a book out. She turns the pages, skimming. She finds the name she’s looking for and carries the book to a nearby table. There, she tears the page from the book and replaces it with a new, fresh page. It reads exactly the same as the old page, except one name is no longer listed. She sets the book back in the stack, and burns the old page.

*

Dimitri sees the qunari first--he’s never seen one in real life before--but his attention is all on the rough blond man with him. What’s their act gonna be? Probably nothing more complicated than the qunari being big and weird enough to distract Dimitri from whatever the blond one is going to pocket.

“Morning,” the qunari says. “I hear you’re the one I should speak to about explosives. Dimitri, right?”

“That’s me. What do you want to blow up?” Dimitri looks between the two of them. Blondie has his hands by his side. He looks like he’s sleeping standing up.

“Oh, you know, a big rock.”

“You want to crack it or shatter it?”

The qunari looks down at Blondie. Blondie looks up and makes some hand gestures.

“Yeah, but if we crack it, we’re still going to have to haul it away from the entrance,” the qunari says to Blondie.

Blondie flexes his arm and smirks. He makes more gestures.

“Good point.” The qunari turns back to Dimitri. “Crack it.”

Dimitri has no idea what the good point was, or what the shit just happened. He just nods, asks a few more questions, and sets to measuring out a few powders here, a few powders there, keep them all separate--don’t mix them yet or you’ll blow yourself up. The qunari hands over a pile of silver and Dimitri hands over the explosives.

The qunari pauses before he leaves, eyeing up Dimitri. “How long have you been on the surface?”

Dimitri bristles. “Been here my whole life,” he spits out.

“Right.” The qunari frowns. Blondie says nothing. They leave.

Even though Dimitri didn’t see Blondie move from his spot during the whole sale, he checks over the table, counting his bottles and bags, even checking the crates under the table. Nothing’s missing. Dimitri frowns. Something has to be missing. No one’s that nice up here. He checks again.

*

Blondie turns up a few days later. He smiles, kind of, and hands over a piece of paper. A request for more explosives. Same as last time.

“Didn’t you get enough?” Dimitri asks.

Blondie shakes his head and looks pissed about it.

“What is it they say up here? Cat got your tongue?”

That earns Dimitri the middle finger.

“All right, all right.” He gathers the powders and tells Blondie again how and when to mix them. Blondie passes over the silvers and Dimitri passes over the powders. Before he pockets the paper, Blondie makes a writing gesture. Dimitri has a charcoal pencil around here somewhere, where, under here? No. Under here? Ah, yes. Blondie writes on the paper and hands it over.

_We are staying at the Mountain View if you want a drink_

“Why would I want to drink with you?” Dimitri asks.

More scrawling. _You look lonely_

“Fuck off.”

Blondie shrugs. He gathers his explosives and leaves.

Asshole. Weird asshole at that.

Dimitri doesn’t go to the Mountain View that night. Once he’s all packed up and has locked all his explosive in boxes, and put those boxes in other boxes and locked those, he goes to the Stone and Hammer. Vad is there, already well into the ale. Dimitri orders his own jug and sits near enough to Vad to have a conversation. Business is poor, Vad complains. No one wants to buy his trinkets. No fucking surprise there, Dimitri thinks. They’re junk. He jiggles his legs and taps on the tabletop as he listens to Vad complain for a while longer. Finally, when it’s all too much, he says, “You see that qunari around town?”

“The Iron Bull?” Vad asks. “Yeah. Dumb guy. He gave me a wyvern tooth just today. Didn’t even ask for any coin, even though it’s worth almost a gold. I wasn’t going to say anything. Not like I’ve got the coin to spare. If he’s too stupid to know what’s valuable, then that’s his loss.” Vad waves down the barkeep and orders another jug.

“The Iron Bull.” Makes sense. “Who is he?”

“Some merc. Tal va-wash or whatever they’re called when they quit the qun. He’s around every few months with his band. Always got plenty of coin to spend so they can’t be that bad at what they do.”

Vad starts going on about the wyvern tooth again. Dimitri tunes him out. Merc, so the explosives were job related. And it was a rock they were blowing up, and he mentioned something about an entrance… so… who _are_ these guys?

Over the next few days, Dimitri asks around the other exiles, working out who the Iron Bull is. His band is called the Chargers. There’s not many of them, but they’ve got a good reputation. They take jobs in Ferelden and Orlais, travelling through Jader when they don’t want to go through the mountain passes.

Curiosity gets the better of him and he goes to the Mountain View. It’s awful. Full of humans and elves. The stools are too high and the bar is over his head. He doesn’t even bother trying to order anything. He just does a circuit, pretending he’s looking for someone--which he is--before leaving again when he doesn’t see any of them. Stupid waste of time. He stomps back to his hut, shivering. Stupid surface with its night time cold. What he wouldn’t give to be back in Orzammar with its lava heating and normal sized stools.

*

The Iron Bull turns up a week later. “Listen, we’re having real trouble with this rock. From what I hear, you’re the only person around here who knows anything about explosives. Can I hire you? Get you to come out and take a look?”

“What?”

“I’ll pay you five gold a day plus expenses, plus whatever it costs to get this rock blown up.”

Dimitri folds his arms. He has to crane his neck to meet the Iron Bull’s one eye. “What’s so special about this rock that needs blowing up, anyway?”

“It’s in the way.”

Dimitri narrows his eyes.

“Seven gold a day, expenses, costs, and a one-sixth share of the profits from this job. Two days out, two days back,” the Iron Bull says.

Dimitri does the math. That’s enough to move somewhere warmer, maybe. “What’s the job?”

“To blow up the rock.”

Dimitri rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I figured that, but you’re telling me some dumbass is paying you to blow up a rock?”

“More or less.”

“Eight gold a day, half up front now, and all the other crap.”

“Done.”

The Iron Bull holds out his hand. He must be fucking joking. His hand is the size of Dimitri’s head. When Dimitri doesn’t move, the Iron Bull drops his hand and looks sheepish.

“I want this is writing,” Dimitri says.

“Fair enough.” The Iron Bull takes a book out of one of his pockets. A pencil slips out of the binding and he writes out a contract.

The Iron Bull tears off the sheet of paper, handing it to Dimitri. The writing is in the book as well, on the paper underneath. Carbon copy. Clever. Dwarven. Sixteen gold follows. Dimitri pockets it before anyone can see. Especially Vad. He’ll hide it better later.

“We leave tomorrow morning,” the Iron Bull says. “If you want to meet everyone before we go, we’re at the Mountain View. Otherwise we’ll swing by tomorrow and pick you up.”

Dimitri just grunts. He’s not going to have enough time to go socialising tonight if he’s leaving tomorrow.

Once the Iron Bull leaves, Dimitri sets to packing, putting aside what he thinks he’ll need for this troublesome rock.

That night, after he’s locked all his boxes, and those boxes, he carries all his boxes out of his hut and down to the wharf, where he hides them all in an abandoned warehouse. Takes him a good two hours and his back fucking aches by the end of it. Before he leaves the warehouse, he picks a bomb out of his pocket, thumbs the primer, and throws it into the air. It lands on the locked boxes and _poofs_ , sending dust everywhere, over the boxes, over the floor, leaving no trace of anyone having been here. Then he locks the warehouse door and shivers on his walk back to town.

*

Five people turn up all wearing various bits of armour and weapons. Some of them carry packs. There’s a put-upon looking horse carrying the rest. The Iron Bull leads them, then a red headed human man, Blondie, another human man, and an elf woman. The elf looks like she murders people for fun.

“Dimitri, hey,” the Iron Bull says. He introduces everyone. “Krem, Grim--you’ve met him before--Stitches, and Skinner. Everyone, this is Dimitri.”

He gets a good welcome from everyone except the elf. He refuses Krem’s offer to put his pack on the horse and hefts it on his back instead. He locks his door at the top and bottom, then he’s ready.

“You got any weapons?” Krem asks. He sounds suspicious, checking over Dimitri.

Dimitri pats the vials and bottles in his cloak and on his belt. “I’m armed and dangerous.”

“Remind me not to hug you,” Stitches says.

*

Walking fucking sucks. It reminds Dimitri of his walk from Orzammar to Jader, and just how long that took. It’s worse with these guys, because they’ve all got longer legs than him. But better; company counts for something. Skinner insists on walking behind Dimitri, and while she says its for his protection, he’s not so sure she’s not going to just stab him in the back and steal his gold. Blondie--Grim--is in front of Dimitri and getting further and further ahead. He’s doing his best to keep up but by the time they stop for lunch, he can’t hide the sweat that’s running off his face. Stupid fucking job.

Grim shares his lunch with Dimitri. He still doesn’t say anything. Just does those weird hand gestures whenever anyone asks him a question. At least the food is good. Pulled bear and fresh bread. That’s one good thing the surface has: bear meat. Deepstalker steaks are so much tougher.

They walk all afternoon, but slower, Dimitri realises. Skinner still walks at the back, but Grim walks next to Dimitri when the trail allows, Stitches ahead of them, and Krem with the Iron Bull up front. Dimitri’s breathing too hard to talk, and anyway, what’s he gonna talk about with someone who can’t talk back?

They stop when it’s getting dark. The spot looks well used. Everyone starts unloading the horse and doing different jobs to get the camp set up. Dimitri doesn’t know what to do so he just stands there, tapping his fingers on his leg and feeling antsy. Eventually he’s sent with Grim to get firewood.

Dinner is just as good as lunch. Better. Hot and filling. The Chargers tell stories around the fire, and Dimitri inches closer and closer as the night closes in. He listens and resents how easily they talk with each other. How long’s it been since he could just _talk_? Someone throws a blanket over him. He tucks it around himself and looks for the culprit. Grim, with that pained smile.

“Where are you from, Dimitri?” Stitches asks.

He nearly says Orzammar, but catches himself and says Jader instead.

“Huh. Just seems like you’re not used to the surface,” Stitches says.

“Course I am. I just don’t like the cold, that’s all.”

Grim shifts beside him, hands moving.

The Iron Bull smiles. “He says dwarves are carved from stone and forged in fire, and you’re far from your home. That’s why you’re cold.”

“Something like that,” Dimitri replies. He can’t figure this Grim guy out. Can’t figure any of them out.

Krem takes the first watch, and Dimitri is left wondering where he’s supposed to sleep. He doesn’t want to leave his spot by the fire, but all these tents are pitched for a reason. Grim points to one, points to himself, then Dimitri.

“You want me to share?” Dimitri asks.

_Nod nod_. Grim wraps his arms around himself and shakes, like he’s shivering, then points to Dimitri again.

Dimitri takes this to mean that Grim doesn’t want Dimitri to be cold. Fine. He’ll move from his spot by the fire.

The tent is small, even for Dimitri. Furs line the ground, blankets, then more furs. In the near-dark, Grim takes off almost all his clothes and settles in between the furs and blankets. Dimitri only takes off his boots and cloak and belt, then crawls in as well. He shivers for a few minutes, then before he knows it, he’s asleep.

*

Dimitri wakes up to the sounds of camp noises outside. Grim stirs next to him. Right next to him. He opens his eyes and in the morning gloom and sees skin. Feels skin, his cheek pressed against Grim’s bare back. Shit. How fucking embarrassing. He must have rolled over in the night and stuck himself to Grim. Carefully, he rolls away, hoping that Grim hasn’t noticed. But Grim follows, rolling onto his back and propping himself up on his elbow. He’s got that pained smile and he moves his fingers.

“Sorry,” Dimitri mumbles. “Must’ve gotten cold.”

Grim huffs and smiles, then gets up, stretching and dressing before leaving. Dimitri takes advantage of Grim’s absence to flop back down and curl up around the furs Grim had slept in. Shit, the sooner this job is done the better. He can’t just hug strangers in his sleep.

The second day passes much like the first: everyone walks too fast. Grim walks with Dimitri again, but he doesn’t talk--he can’t, that’s clear enough--but he doesn’t hand-talk either. Just… walks. The whole thing’s unnerving. Dimitri’s not used to being so quiet. Even when he’s by himself, working out his explosives, he’s talking to himself, saying what he’s doing. But trying to talk to someone who can’t talk back just seems awkward at best and rude at worst. So he keeps his mouth shut despite his tongue’s jitters.

When they finally stop for a break, Dimitri asks when they’ll be at this rock. The Iron Bull says they’ll camp close to it tonight and attack it in the morning.

Despite his best efforts not to hog the campfire in the evening, Dimitri finds himself almost in it. Grim wraps him in a blanket again and he finds himself squished between Grim and the Iron Bull. He has to admit, it feels pretty good. He shares Grim’s tent that night and makes sure to sleep with his back to Grim, but is embarrassed to find himself curled around him again in the morning.

*

Over breakfast, the Iron Bull says the rock’s a half hour walk from the camp. Dimitri listens to a disagreement between the Iron Bull and Krem about how much of the camp they should pack up, and whether they should take the horse or leave it here. The Iron Bull is clearly the boss, but he doesn’t seem to mind the way Krem talks back to him. Their easy friendship makes Dimitri smile. Reminds him of him and his father.

Finally the Iron Bull wins out. They pack up the whole camp, load up the horse, and plod through the forest single file.

Dimitri's fingers start itching before long. Itching to blow something up. Anything. He could blow up that tree, or throw a smoke bomb into the air. He fiddles with the bottles on his belt and pats down his cloak. Everything’s still there. Ready and waiting. This rock better be worth it.

The forest path opens up to a clearing. No, a dead end. Cliffs rise high above them, covered in vines and moss and other green crap that Dimitri doesn’t know the names of. And there’s the rock. He’s already walking up to it when the Iron Bull starts saying, “There’s the rock.” The ground around it shows sign of the Chargers’ previous attempts. Scorch marks mar the cliff and the rock, and the grass. By the time he presses his hand to the rock, Dimitri already knows what’s wrong. The rock itself is nothing special to look at. Neither’s the cliff. He runs his hand over it and hums. The rock speaks to him, but not like the Stone. He smiles, then frowns, then turns around.

“The fucking thing’s enchanted,” he says.

“Come again?” the Iron Bull says.

“Enchanted. Protected. That’s why you couldn’t blow it up.”

The Chargers all huff and sigh.

The Iron Bull stands stock still, lips pursed, before sagging like the rest of them. “You’ve got to be fucking…” he mumbles. He scratches his head and nods at Dimitri. “Well, can you unenchant it or blow it up or something?”

Dimitri grunts. “Never really was very good with lyrium,” he admits. “You not got a mage? They could dispel it pretty easy.”

The Iron Bull shakes his head.

“Let me…” Dimitri turns back to the rock and runs his hand over the edge between it and the cliff. Then he runs his hands over the cliff itself, sidling along. It’s rough under his palms. Damp like water’s been leaching from the stone or dripping from plants. That’s enough for him to know what to do though. He pulls out a few bottles and mixes the contents together, shaking them. He pours it all into a long thin vial, slips in a fuse, stops it with gum.

“Someone hold this for me?” he says. He doesn’t look to see who takes it, just lets go when fingers brush his. Then he takes out a drill from his cloak. He puts it together, strings the crossbar, and starts drilling into the side of the cliff. Shouldn’t take long. His bit is sharp. Once the hole is deep enough, he swaps the bit for a larger one, and drills away more of the rock. He holds out his hand and the vial is given back. He slips it in the hole. Perfect. Once he’s disassembled the drill and pocketed it, he takes out his flint stones and strikes them near the fuse. He can feel himself smiling, feel the fuse already ticking away in his blood. One spark. Two. The third catches.

“Run!” he yells, running.

The others all run too, and he sees that it was Grim who’d been his assistant. His fingers fizz from when they touched. They all stop near the tree line. His grin makes his cheeks ache, and he rubs his hands on his trousers, watching, waiting. Shouldn’t be long now.

“What’ll happ--” Krem starts.

_Boom_. _Bo-boom._ The cliff cracks at a forty-five degree angle. It slides, or part of it does, then nothing happens.

“Is that--” Krem tries again.

_Shching._

The stone below the crack shatters. The enchanted rock hasn’t moved, but now there’s a gaping entrance to a cave.

“Ha haa! Look at that!” Dimitri yells. He claps his hands. “Perfect. Got it just right. Come on, let’s go.” He starts for the hole but a big hand on his shoulder pulls him back.

“Nice work,” the Iron Bull says. “We’re going in, but we need to be smart about it.”

Fine. Whatever. Dimitri’s just happy his explosion worked. He ignores the conversation happening with the Chargers. Doesn’t apply to him.

“All right, let’s go.” The Iron Bull claps him on the back. “Skinner is staying behind with Horse. The rest of us, move out.”

Krem hands out torches, one each. They light easily enough, but they need a hand to hold them, and three of the Chargers have two-handed axes. And these guys are professionals?

“Those are shit,” Dimitri says. He takes out some vials from his cloak and snaps them. They fit into polished silverite domes the size of his hand and fit around the head with a thin leather belt. “Head torch. Keeps the hands free.” The Chargers ooh and ahh and Dimitri’s feeling smug with his basic dwarven technology.

The Iron Bull takes one since he’s leading the way. Grim relies on the light from the Iron Bull’s torch. Dimitri goes next. Stitches has a torch and a small sword, then Krem brings up the rear with his axe and the last torch.

He still doesn’t know what they’re looking for, but he doesn’t care. He’s underground again, surrounded on all sides by stone. Sure, it’s not warm, but not all of the thaigs were lava warmed. He’s so lost in homesickness that he doesn’t even register the Iron Bull’s yell at first. When he finally realises what’s happening, the deep crawler is dead. Dimitri shudders. Big freaky spider things. Gross. They press forward and encounter another. And another. Must be near a damn lair or something. He’s ready now though, priming and throwing grenades at the spiders. One explodes right as the Iron Bull smashes it with his great axe, and spider guts go everywhere. Dimitri laughs, loud, and the sound echoes off the cave walls.

The Iron Bull wipes his face. “Thanks, Dimitri.”

A huffing sound comes from beside Dimitri. It’s Grim. He’s...grinning and shaking. What a weird way to laugh.

They work their way through the cave. It’s fucking long, that’s for sure. Stitches stops to pick mushrooms, but they’re not the mind bending type so Dimitri doesn’t know why he bothers. Stitches also rummages around in the spiders guts. Now that’s gross.

Eventually, after a few more spiders, they reach the end of the cave. There’s nothing here that Dimitri can see as he casts his torch around the walls. Just webbing and weeping stone.

“There it is,” the Iron Bull says.

Three lights converge on a patch of ground. Nothing there. Not even any dust. Huh. The Iron Bull scuffs the ground carefully. A spark catches in the torch light, white and bright. He digs it out with his hands, prying it off whatever’s holding it in place underground. It’s a pearl. Huge. Smooth, and worth a fortune.

“Someone put that here?” Dimitri asks.

“Not quite,” the Iron Bull says.

“What--”

The ground rumbles. Dirt goes flying and Dimitri stumbles back as a huge cave beetle climbs out of the ground. It snaps at them, blood dripping from a wound on its head.

“Shit!”

They all turn and run. Dimitri’s last. He’s running as fast as he can but he’s slowed down by the vials and bottles jiggling in his cloak and on his belt. Ahead, Grim keeps turning back and waving, hurrying Dimitri along. His lungs burn. The beetle snaps its pincers at him.

Grim trips. He goes sprawling, right in front of Dimitri. Dimitri doesn’t have time to yell “get up” or “move”. He doesn’t have time to prime a grenade and throw it. Instead, he throws a bottle of unmixed pitch with his right hand and his head torch with his left. He dives over Grim, shielding him with his own body as the pitch ignites. The heat sears his back. The curdling screech and instant stench of roasting flesh makes his ears ring and his stomach heave. Then he’s up in the air, up up, rough, fuck it hurts. Is he being eaten? No. He’s moving away. Being held. Beside him, in the air too, Grim. Between them, an axe and a grey back. The Iron Bull. They’re being carried, jiggled about as Iron Bull runs. Dimitri puts his hand out at the same time as Grim. Their fingers touch, link, and they stay like that, holding onto each other as tentatively as Dimitri's consciousness holds onto reality.

The sunlight is blinding. It’s everywhere. Dimitri shields his eyes as he’s put down. They seem to be back in the camp. The Chargers gather around but it’s Stitches who’s on him, holding his head up and sticking a health potion between his lips.

“Hold it,” Stitches says.

Dimitri holds onto it like a baby holding a milk bottle. He turns and sees Grim wiping his mouth, an empty vial on the ground next to him. Stitches wraps a poultice around his leg.

“You okay?” Dimitri asks.

Grim nods. He signs something.

“What? Didn’t hear you.” Dimitri laughs and Grim rolls his eyes.

“‘Thank you. I would have been toast.’ he said,” says the Iron Bull. Grim signs something else and Bull translates. “‘You’re heavy. Good snuggler though.’” Grim smirks.

Dimitri’s snarky reply dies on his lips as his cheeks heat up to boiling point. The Iron Bull laughs, and Dimitri feels his temper fraying.

“Hey, it’s okay,” The Iron Bull says. “We all have to let our walls down when we’re travelling together. Not all the way, but enough for us all to get along. You’ll learn.”

Dimitri’s about to ask what the Iron Bull's on about, but he’s already calling out to the others to get the camp sorted for the night. Grim and Dimitri get out of having to do much more than stir the dinner pot. They’re not that injured, or Dimitri isn’t at least, but he’s not going to volunteer to go and do camp crap if he can help it. Nah, he’s going to milk this injury for as long as he can. While they’re sitting doing nothing, Grim nudges Dimitri. He makes a gesture with his closed fists, the top one knocking the bottom one. He does it slowly. Dimitri just stares. Grim does the gesture again, then points at Dimitri.

“Me?” Dimitri asks.

Grim nods and repeats the movement.

Dimitri copies him, but not well enough. Grim takes Dimitri's hands in his and angles Dimitri's fists to his satisfaction. He nods. Dimitri watches, dumbfounded, confused with how nice Grim’s feel. But now they’re gone.

“Me. Dimitri.”

A nod, then shake--no.

“I don’t get it. You’re making my name or what?”

Grim rolls his eyes. He does another gesture, a different one, all fingers, and points to himself.

Dimitri can’t even do that one, but at least he understands it. “You. Grim.”

Grim nods. He points to each person around the camp and makes the sign for their name. Dimitri’s not going to remember any of them.

That night, he doesn’t bother trying to avoid curling up next to Grim. He crawls under the blankets and furs and wedges one arm under his head, trying to avoid poking Grim too much with his elbow. He throws his other arm over Grim’s torso, and Grim wiggles back. Dimitri smiles. Been a long time since he’s felt anything like this. A long time. He’d forgotten how good it could feel.

*

The walk back to Jader is mercifully slow. Grim’s leg is still healing and while Dimitri’s pretty sure Grim could ride the horse, the Iron Bull doesn’t suggest it. Seems he’s happy enough for the group to take their time now that he’s got his pearl.

When Jader’s tower comes into view, Dimitri’s heart pulls two ways. He’s looking forward to sitting down and not moving for, oh, a good week. But there’s this other pang, almost like loss. He puts it down to homesickness for Orzammar. His heart feels empty and hollow, and he remembers how much he’s lost.

The group pass Dimitri’s hut and stop.

“Guess this is it,” he says, fumbling for his keys. He looks up at the Iron Bull. “You can pay me tomorrow.” Really, he’d prefer to be paid now, but the temptation to sit is overwhelming.

“Sure, no problem. We’ll be celebrating tonight though. Come join us.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

The Iron Bull shrugs and sets off again, the Chargers in tow. Grim lingers. His face is hard to read. Dimitri makes the gesture for their names, best he can remember, then realises how stupid that is. Grim can hear just fine. But he laughs that huffy laugh and gestures back, then he’s off running to catch up with the others.

Dimitri unlocks his door and slips inside. He closes it and breathes a sigh of relief. He sits, just like he promised himself, and for an hour, he doesn’t move. He just stares at the wall, head empty of all thoughts. Fingers still, legs still.

Once his foot cramps, he bursts into life again. All his stock. He’s got to get his stock. He should really wait until it’s darker outside, but he’s done with the cold and night so he puts on his cloak and takes the long way to the docks. No signs of entry. Dust not disturbed. All the boxes are there. Right. Time to move them. He wishes he had that horse still, then he’d be able to move everything in one trip, instead of all this backwards and forwards.

He’s picking up his second round of boxes when a scrape on the floor from behind has him yelping. He turns, knowing he can’t drop the boxes lest he blow up the entire warehouse, and sees Grim standing just inside the doorway.

“What are you doing here?” Dimitri asks.

Grim makes his fingers walk.

“You followed me?”

A nod.

“Why?”

He makes a more complicated gesture, then shrugs. He walks over, slowly, palms out, like he’s approaching a worked-up mabari. He stops close to the boxes and points at them, points at Dimitri, points at the door. Right. Okay.

“You want to help?”

Another nod.

“Okay then. I’m not paying you.”

Grim takes four boxes--that’s the rest--and Dimitri tells him to be careful. Together they sidle out of the warehouse and down the side alleys back to Dimitri's hut.

“Thanks,” Dimitri says once they’ve stacked them all.

He stands there awkwardly, waiting for Grim to nod and leave. He doesn’t though. He looks around the single room. Dimitri bristles at the intrusion, the silent judgement. He clears his throat. “Thanks, I said.”

Grim looks… hurt? Confused? He sits on the bed and pats the blanket beside him.

Ah, shit. Does Grim want to, you know, with Dimitri? That would be… _Nice, amazing, everything_. Dimitri shakes his head. They’re not camping anymore and they barely know each other. _I can’t. I don’t know how. Well, I know_ how _, but--_ “We’re done. You can leave now.”

Grim’s face clouds over. He doesn’t move immediately but when he does, his walk is stiff. He shuts the door harder than necessary and one of the boxes teeters--but doesn’t fall.

Dimitri sighs. What an ass. Him, not Grim. Why didn’t he just go and sit next to Grim? Maybe have kissed him? At least touched him. It’s what he’s wanted, some contact with someone who doesn’t hate him for what he’s done. Maybe that’s why he was an ass.

He readjusts the boxes so they’re stable, then he digs out from stale bread from his travel pack. He crawls into bed fully clothed, and pulls the blankets over him so he’s completely covered. He’s in his own bed, but he’s not nearly as comfortable as he had been the last few days.

*

Vad comes over in the morning while Dimitri sets up for the day.

“Where have you been?” he asks. “I thought you’d left town. Wouldn’t blame you. No one buys anything here.”

Dimitri grunts his way through his answers. Vad might be an exile as well, but he’s a pain in the ass. Orzammar is better off without him. Finally Vad leaves.

Business is slow, but the Iron Bull turns up mid-morning and pays Dimitri the rest of his coin. There’s more in the bag than there should be but Dimitri doesn’t say anything. He’s still stewing over kicking out Grim.

“What’s Grim’s deal?” he blurts.

“Not my place to say. You’ll have to ask him,” the Iron Bull says.

“You don’t know or you’re not saying?”

“Bit of both.” Bull shifts, steps forward. He’s huge. He blocks out the sun. “Here’s the thing about me and my boys. We’re all running from something, or someone, or ourselves. That’s how I find them, usually. Running. If they’re good in a fight, then I don’t care what their history is, so long as they didn’t murder any children. It works.”

Dimitri gulps. He’s not running away. He wants to go back.

The Iron Bull starts leaving.

“Hey,” Dimitri says. The Iron Bull turns. “You gave me more than what we agreed to.”

“I know.”

*

After locking up, Dimitri stalks over to the Mountain View. He tells himself he’s going out of some misplaced sense of duty and that he’ll only stay if someone else buys his drink for him.

He stays until the barkeep shuts the tavern in the wee hours of the morning.

The Chargers welcomed him as soon as he stepped through the door. Krem shoved a tankard in his hand and started singing a bawdy tavern song. The others all joined in. It was about him. Him blowing up the rock and blowing up that beetle. They managed to rhyme ‘bomb’ with ‘home’ and Dimitri couldn’t help but grin. The Iron Bull bought him dinner--roast bear and mash potatoes. He didn’t even mind having to climb up onto the chair to reach the table. Grim bought him the next round and pulled his chair close to Dimitri’s, apparently forgiving him for last night, even putting his arm around Dimitri's waist. Dimitri leaned against Grim and got them to sing his song again. At the end, he toasted everyone in a long and rambling speech.

Someone bought more beer. Someone danced on a table.

Now he’s standing outside, staring at the stars. They sway. A hand takes his elbow. It’s Grim. He starts walking Dimitri home and Dimitri sings his song, punctuating the ‘fuck’ from the last line with his fist.

“Wish you could sing,” he says to Grim.

Grim stops in the middle of the street and faces Dimitri. He dances about, waving his hands together, skipping on the cobblestones, grinning. Dimitri recognises some of the gestures--the one for himself at least. The one for ‘fuck’ is obvious and makes Dimitri laugh.

They stop outside Dimitri’s hut and Dimitri drops all his keys. Damn, fucking shit. He can’t tell them apart in the moonlight but Grim’s there, helping him, trying the locks as well. They keep bumping into each other and brushing up against each other. Dimitri giggles and Grim shakes. Eventually they get the door open and Dimitri stumbles in. He pulls off his cloak and boots and flops on the bed. His head swims. He closes his eyes but that’s worse, so he opens them again.

“Grim, Grim,” he says, waving Grim over. “Keep me warm?” He hopes he’s giving his best suave smile, but he forgets that it’ll be too dark in here for Grim to see it.

The bed dips where Grim sits, then the blankets shift. Dimitri realises he’s being tucked in, not hugged, but the blankets are so warm and he’s so sleepy that he can’t protest. He barely registers the door closing a minute later.

*

Dimitri’s frowning at the sky and kicking at the dirt and generally trying not to move too fast when the Iron Bull, Krem, and Grim turn up. They look far too chipper for the amount they drank last night.

Grim hands him a mug of something foul-smelling.

“It’s a hangover cure,” Krem says. “Tastes like shit and doesn’t do anything.”

Grim slaps Krem’s arm.

“Okay, maybe it’s not that bad.”

Dimitri takes a sip. Blerug. Yeah, that does taste like shit. He coughs. “What can I do for you gentlemen this fine morning.” His throat feels like he’s been chewing gravel.

“We want you to join us,” the Iron Bull says.

“Come again?”

“Become one of the Chargers.”

“That’s…”

“We’re moving out in a few hours, so you’ll need to decide soon, or wait until we come through again.” The Iron Bull steps forward and lowers his voice. “Listen, I can tell you’re not from the surface and like I said yesterday, I don’t care what you’re hiding. All I need to know is if whoever you're running from is going to pop out from behind a tree and stab you, and then that's only so I can make sure we stab them first.”

Dimitri gulps hard. He looks between the three of them. They’re not in matching armour. Nothing about them screams safety or security. They’re mercs. They fight for a living. But what’s he got to live for, really? An exile with no contacts, no life, no hope. Just a bunch of explosives and nothing to blow up.

“I didn’t kill any kids,” he whispers to the Iron Bull. “I didn’t mean to kill the people I did, but they weren't kids.”

The Iron Bull nods.

“No one’s coming for me.” His voice cracks.

The Iron Bull nods again. “You got anything you want to bring with you?”

“Just--all my boxes. Tools of the trade.”

The Iron Bull, Krem, and Grim help Dimitri pack up all the boxes and his meagre possessions. He locks his door from force of habit and throws the keys to Vad’s hut. He doesn’t even say goodbye.

*

Over the next few days they travel east, into Orlais. The Iron Bull has this pearl to deliver. Dimitri's never been to Orlais before--no surprises there. It’s warmer than Jader, and he has to take his cloak off during the day or he sweats too much. The breeze ruffles his hair and the sun warms him. Despite not knowing where he’s going or what he’s doing, he feels almost content. Better than he’s felt in months, anyway.

They stay in roadside inns--no camping. They’re not fancy, not made for comfort. Dimitri shares a room with Grim. Two small beds each time. One night he can’t sleep, so he pads across the room and slips into Grim’s bed, folding himself against Grim’s back, revelling in his warmth. Grim takes his hand and holds it, close to his chest. Dimitri feels his heart beating, and his own heart swells.

*

The Iron Bull goes through Dimitri’s contract to join the Chargers. It’s more formal than he thought it’d be. This is Shaper level shit. It’s all clear though, makes sense. The new responsibility sits a little too heavy on his shoulders, but he supposes he’ll get used to it.

The Iron Bull also says Dimitri will have to learn Grim’ sign language. He waggles his eyebrows in such a lewd way that Dimitri’s cheeks heat up, but before Dimitri can say nothing’s happening, the Iron Bull adds, “It’s not just so you can understand him. Sometimes a mission will require absolute silence, and being able to talk to each other without making a sound can be really useful. It’s not hard. Just like learning another language.”

Right. It’s that easy.

Dimitri tries though. Stitches is the best teacher. Or, the most patient one. Dimitri has no patience and jiggles the whole time, thinking he’s got it when he doesn’t. He practices on Grim during the day when they’re walking from trading post to trading post. The trick is to talk out loud and sign at the same time. Makes him slow down and think. Grim’s joy when Dimitri actually gets a whole sentence makes Dimitri’s heart swell.

Arriving in Lydes is a shock to the noggin. A real town, not just a trading post. About the same size as Jader, it’s got a mix of inhabitants from would-be nobles to peasants. The Chargers are welcomed with waves and come-hither smiles. Must have a good reputation. Dimitri waves back, delighted despite having done nothing for any of these people.

The Iron Bull directs them to the fanciest inn Dimitri has ever seen. It’s two floors and covers a lot of ground. The innkeeper welcomes the Chargers and asks if they want their usual, two to a room, one with an extra big bed for the Iron Bull.

Best of all, the place is warm. The Iron Bull explains that the town sits on top of thermal vents. Dimitri quizzes him and works out which thaig is underneath them. He’s not been to it, but he knows of it. He’ll never get to go to it now, but the thought doesn’t hurt as much as it used to.

Dimitri follows Grim through the inn. He pulls off his boots and sighs with delight when his feet rest on the heated stones of their ground floor room. No slippers needed here. He explores the room’s features while Grim goes and gets food. They’ve got a bed each, and towels. They’re soft towels. And there’s an inside privy! Running water for showers and a bath. By the Stone, Dimitri hasn’t seen plumbing like this since Orzammar. He didn’t think the surface was sophisticated enough. He almost tears up from the sheer joy it all. He pulls his clothes off and stands under the shower. Hot water beats down on him, easing his tired, walk-worn muscles. There’s soap in a tray, and for the first time in weeks--months--he washes himself. He sings his song, the one the Chargers made for him. Once he’s well clean, he digs around in one of his bags--still dripping wet--and finds his razor. He lathers his face again and stands with his back to the water. There’s a mirror that needs adjusting downwards, but he gets it in the right place to see his face. With steady, sure strokes, he shaves his cheeks and chin and neck, leaving his moustache thick and luxurious. He rinses himself off. Really, he could stay here all day, but Grim will be back with food soon so he wraps himself in a towel and--

Grim’s sitting on the bed, looking but not looking.

“Hey, didn’t hear you come in,” Dimitri says. His stomach flips and he pulls his towel tighter.

Grim gestures but Dimitri only catches a bit of it. Grim’s smile and shrug is enough to catch the gist: you had a blade in your hand so I didn’t want to startle you.

Grim points at the table. There’s food piled high. Dimitri’s stomach rumbles and he rushes over and starts eating. Shit, Orlesian food is good. “You gonna eat or clean up?” he asks between mouthfuls.

Grim’s still sitting on the bed, smiling. He pats his belly then gets up and comes over. He brushes the back of his hand against Dimitri’s cheek. The touch makes Dimitri’s skin buzz and his heart beat hard. Then Grim’s gone, stripping off his clothes and throwing them on top of Dimitri’s pile. Dimitri tries not to look, but he looks. He’s seen Grim with no shirt on before--he sleeps half naked most nights--but he hasn’t actually seen him naked, despite their time on the road sharing tents and inns. He’s… tall. Broad shouldered. Lean hipped. Muscular. Blond. Very blond. Dimitri swallows. He looks away. He eats, hearing only splashing water as Grim washes.

A click of the fingers makes Dimitri finally turn around. Grim’s sitting in the bath. It’s full, right up to the lip. Grim waves him over with two fingers and a sultry smirk. Dimitri groans. His fingers drum on the table. He shouldn’t want to get in that bath, but everything’s been leading up to this--or something like this--right? He leaves his towel on the chair and walks forward as shamelessly as he can. Grim eyes him up and down. Mostly down. He shifts so Dimitri can climb in and sit. It’s not big, so their legs touch. Water sloshes over the lip of the bath. And then they’re there, sitting opposite each other in a hot bath, naked. Grim smiles. He’s shaved. He looks younger. For once Dimitri doesn’t know what to say. Grim takes the soap and beckons Dimitri forward. Dimitri slides closer, between Grim’s legs. Grim soaps up Dimitri's head, his chest, his arms--all covered in dark hair. He’s already done this, he’s already clean, but this is so nice, so good. Grim’s hands rub and caress, sending waves of goosebumps over Dimitri’s skin.

Dimitri closes his eyes. He feels like all his worries are being rubbed to the surface, not quite away, but somewhere where he can deal with them, share them. He’s not been this close to someone in years, hasn’t wanted to be, but when he admits it to himself, he admits that he’s wanted this, company, a friend or more, since he first shared a tent with Grim. Grim’s so quiet--obviously--and calm, even in a fight, even when those giant spiders attacked the group, he attacked back with precision. And maybe some of that is rubbing off on Dimitri, making him calmer, quieter. He opens his eyes and sees Grim’s light blues staring back, blown almost black in the low light.

Grim fills a jug with bath water and pours it over Dimitri, washing the soap off. He passes the soap to Dimitri, and Dimitri lathers up his hands and rubs them over Grim’s head, his neck and shoulders. Man, they’re broad shoulders, toned from wielding a sword all the time. Grim leans back, his arms on the rim of the bath, so Dimitri has to lean forward to wash Grim’s chest and the sparse hair there. He sighs under Dimitri’s touch. It’s a strange sound, just breath, no vocal _ahhh_. There’s a scar on his throat, small and knotted.

“Is this why you can’t speak?” Dimitri asks. He runs a soapy thumb over the scar.

Grim shakes his head.

“Then why?”

Grim shrugs, then makes a rocking gesture with his arms. Baby?

“You were born like this?”

Nod nod.

“How did you join the Chargers?”

Grim’s smile curdles into a grimace. He shakes his head, slowly.

“Sorry,” Dimitri mumbles, feeling stupid for having gone too far. He rinses him off in silence and sits back, the water reaching his chin.

Together they sit in the bath, steam rising in the heat. That’s not the only thing rising. After all this washing and touching, Dimitri wants to jump Grim right here, right now, so he does. He surges forward, squeaking against the tub, and lands on Grim’s chest. He kisses him, sloppy and uncoordinated. Grim’s arms wrap around Dimitri and they kiss again, finding each other’s lips properly this time. They kiss and kiss, grind, bodies pressed together in the water. Grim's a good kisser, and his hands knead Dimitri’s back, slide down to cup his ass. Grim sighs, his breath catching in the air. Dimitri groans. They pull apart.

“Shall we take this to dry land?” Dimitri asks.

Grim nods.

They dry each other off hastily and tumble into Grim’s bed.

*

In the middle of the night, Dimitri lies in the crook of Grim’s shoulder. His hands are still, one resting on his own leg, the other on Grim’s hip. Grim’s fingers stroke Dimitri’s arm. They got to know each other pretty well just before. More than once, even. Dimitri’s skin still tingles from the joy of it all. Now he feels like the smoke from one of his bombs, laying heavy on the ground, thick and smooth and free.

“I got exiled,” Dimitri starts. “I blew up part of the Shaperate. Killed some people. I didn’t mean to kill them. I meant to blow up the bit I did, but just not as much as I did. It was stupid. I had everything measured correctly, I’m sure, but… I thought I could help our family name if I just erased a little detail from our history. But I made it worse. They’ve probably erased my name from the records by now. The Shapers, I mean. Not my family. It’s what they do if you piss them off. Pretend you never existed, and after a while, everyone forgets about you.” He sighs. “I don’t even exist.”

Grim squeezes Dimitri’s arm.

“I’m sorry.” He barks a laugh. “Why am I apologizing to you? You probably don’t even know what the Shaperate is and what it means and what I’ve done--”

Grim squeezes Dimitri’s arm again. It tickles and it’s enough to stop Dimitri’s rambling. Grim shifts. He kisses Dimitri's face, the corner of his eye, his cheek and lips.

It’s enough. He understands.

*

Grim’s out of bed criminally early. Dimitri rolls into the warmth left by Grim’s body and goes back to sleep. He’s prodded awake again far too soon, but the smell of toast and porridge makes up for being awake. Grim writes on a sheet of paper while Dimitri eats.

_Chief and Krem have gone to deliver the pearl and get paid. Free day. What do you want to do?_

He signs the message as well, so Dimitri can get the words into his head.

Grim’s smile tells Dimitri that he has some ideas, and Dimitri’s keen enough to stay in bed a while longer, but he has supplies to get.

“Know any chemists or alchemists around here?” he asks.

Grim nods.

They finish up breakfast, get dressed properly, and head out into town. As the stride toward the market, close--but not too close--together, Dimitri looks around with interest instead of suspicion. He has his hands in his pockets instead of balled up by his side. The sun is warm and welcoming, instead of harsh. For the first time since coming up to the surface, he doesn’t feel like he’ll fall into the sky. He spends the morning with Grim, buying supplies and exploring the market. They have a sign lesson over lunch, and in the afternoon, he lets Grim help him mix up a few powders, but only a few. Can’t be letting all his secrets out at once.

They eat in the tavern that night with the rest of the Chargers. They’re all spending big, now that the Iron Bull and Krem have come back with the rest of their pay from the job. The Iron Bull reckons he’s got another job lined up already so they’ll all be shipping out in the morning, better drink up tonight.

The Chargers are in full song-mode when the Iron Bull nudges Dimitri. “So, how’s it going?”

“Is this a performance review?”

The Iron Bull laughs. “Sure, why not?”

“Then it’s going good.”

“Grim making you feel welcome?”

Dimitri’s face burns and that makes the Iron Bull laugh even more.

“You're good,” the Iron Bull says, expression soft. He sounds like an indulgent father. “There’s just one thing left. See, most of my guys have nicknames. It’s a way of starting again, putting the past behind you. You want a new name?”

Dimitri nods. Yeah, yeah he would.

The Iron Bull turns to the table. “Hey, Chargers, Dimitri’s sticking around. Great, right? So, what’re we gonna call him?”

“Boom?”

“Cackles?”

“Shorty?”

Grim clicks his fingers, catching everyone’s attention, and makes his sign for Dimitri, fist on fist.

“Rocky!” the Iron Bull yells. “Because of the rock! That’s perfect.” He laughs and slaps the table.

The rest of the Chargers start making the sign and yelling “Rocky.”

Grim smiles at Dimitri, holding his gaze in the crowded, raucous tavern.

Dimitri makes the sign. “Rocky,” he says to himself. “Rocky,” he says louder. He lifts his half empty jug of ale, managing to spill some, and the Chargers all follow. “ _Rocky!”_ he shouts.

“Rocky!” they shout back.

His name is Rocky, and he’s home.


End file.
